


When I Die

by feldrijch



Category: South Park
Genre: Gen, Implied Kyle Broflovski/Stan Marsh, Kyle Broflovski & Stan Marsh Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-09-28 00:30:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17172425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feldrijch/pseuds/feldrijch
Summary: Being sent off to see your best friend should be something everyone looks forward to. It would be so if he wasn’t wearing a black suit-something Stan would never wear if he could help it, and lying peacefully in a casket in front of you, seemingly asleep.In which Stan Marsh passes, and left a notebook of requests to be fulfilled after his passing; and left Kyle the hardest one of all.Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, maybe sensitive content.





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> my first actual sp fic. Might contain sensitive content, and depressing thoughts. Based on my own, and some real-life circumstances. Sorry if it's shit.

The absence of someone makes a huge hole in living, especially when you know they won’t be back. If this person happened to be an important figure in your life, then you've lucked out. Time to engage in the 5 stages of grief; which is easiest to do when isolated, giving your mind a peaceful state to grasp the recent events. This was Kyle’s philosophy recently; he’s been boldly implementing it into his routine. The boy locked himself in his room, barely ever coming out to eat.  He’d gone five days without eating proper meals; the only thing in his stomach being aged yogurt bars and chocolate. 

 

After six mornings, his mother had to come up and fish him out of the messy cave he had made out of his room. Had she not done so, he’d still be miserably lying on the cold floor; staring at the ceiling as if God was looking down on him- perhaps in pity. Kyle was secretly glad to have such a nosy mother who wouldn’t leave him alone unless she knew he was at top condition. There are few things to be grateful of, and them being numbered shouldn’t be a reason to be woeful. He had a meal waiting for him- the smell of smoked beef greeting him as he reached the bottom of the stairs. He smiled, but his body wouldn’t let him. His muscles tired from the attempt. 

 

Ike pulled him a chair; seeing his brother’s fragile condition worried him. Kyle smiled once again for his little brother; who returned the best. He began to see everything in a new light; he still had a caring family. Poor Ike must’ve been lonely- not having anyone to play with. He felt guilty of neglecting his brother like that- but the little Canadian seemed happy just to have his brother back.  What he thought would be a simple breakfast was interrupted by a white sheet his mother pulled out for him to read. 

 

_ In Loving Memory of Stanley Marsh _

 

Upon reading the title, Kyle shoved the letter back. His posture wilted, and all emotion drained from his face. 

 

Gerald looked at his wife worriedly, who gazed at her son with sad eyes. Realization hit her as Kyle started to shiver, then break into a mess of sobs. He still hadn’t grasped onto the fact that his closest friend was gone. 

 

Sheila felt guilty. “I’m sorry, Kyle...I shouldn’t have-”

 

“FUCKING DROP IT! I KNEW THERE’D BE A GODDAMN FUNERAL ANYWAY! DON’T REMIND ME UNTIL THEN!”  

 

Ike jumped at his brother’s sudden outburst. “Kyle..”

 

Kyle looked up, tears running down his red face. He knew the day would come. The day when he’d have to say goodbye. When he’d have to bid farewell to his best friend, who wouldn’t even return the goddamned gesture. Because he can’t. 

 

Kyle ran upstairs, but no one dared to bring him back down.

 

Energy drained itself from the crying boy, and he eventually collapsed into a 4-hour nap. The last moments he stayed conscious, he had prayed to Moses in hopes of a dream that’ll make him temporarily forget about his current state. Heck, being stuck with Cartman in a ditch seemed better than living right now. At least then he could expect Stan to come find him, maybe even have Kenny dawdling behind. 

 

To his disappointment, 4 hours seemed to have flown by without dropping the package he hoped for. He arose from the soft mattress, bitter as ever; but he frowned with more energy than he did the past few hours. 

 

_ Better luck tonight, I guess.  _

 

His growling stomach brought him out of bed. It expected a full-course meal hours ago, and he let it down. He implanted the thought of a small feast of leftovers displayed on the dining table downstairs to get himself out of his den. 

 

Kyle ran downstairs in a rush, half-expecting a tabletop of food waiting for him. But it seemed his mother had put all the leftovers away, and there was no such morsel in sight. Instead, the letter from earlier lay atop the wooden counter, as if looking to be opened by him. 

 

He let out a silent growl, then picked up the envelope. His fingers gripped on the paper so violently it curved from the pressure. His eyes squinted, trying to focus on reading it without letting tears fall. He let go of the sheet, mentally slapping himself. His stomach growled violently, weakening his posture. 

 

He was too lazy to call his mother for food, so he collapsed on the sofa, staring blankly at the ceiling. To his luck, Sheila walked out of the kitchen a few moments later. 

 

He craned his neck over. “Mom,” he called out hoarsely.

 

“Kyle!” Sheila approached. “Are you hungry? There are still some leftovers in the fridge, I could heat them up for you.” Though filled with worry, she gave her inert son her best smile. 

 

The boy stayed stiff, eyes dark. “The event’s days away isn’t it? Today’s Friday...fuck.”

 

“He’d have wanted you to come, Kyle. It’s your last chance to say goodbye,” his mother said. Her words pierced through her attempt to comfort her son, who only let out a soft whimper in reply. He tried seeing it as if Stan had just moved away. But seeing him lifeless inside a fucking coffin would ruin it, and he didn’t want to return to base one. He shut his eyes just as they started to water. 

 

“Come on bubby, at least eat some of mama’s cake? I baked it for you this morning, your favorite recipe!” Sheila smiled, hugging her son. The boy seemed out of it, nodding off mindlessly.    
  


It broke her heart to see her son so torpid, and not being able to do much about it. Usually, she’d have invited Sharon and her family over whenever Kyle seemed down. Though she hated what mess Randy could potentially cause in the house, the risk was worth seeing her son laugh with the Marsh boy, who seemed to be the only one capable of bringing back light-hearted laughter in the house.    
  


“I’ll get you a plate,” she said and disappeared into the kitchen.   
  


Kyle sat alone on the sofa, eyes dead as he stared off into space. Something was different today, and it bothered him. Whenever he was down, his mom would usually prepare a big dinner for his family and Stan’s. Instead, she offered him cake just a few minutes ago. 

 

The pain in his chest reminded him of what he lost. He looked at the door longingly, hoping Mrs. Marsh would come in any moment, bringing a tray of mashed potatoes, and a dark-haired boy following her from behind. “Hey dude,” he’d say.    
  


“D-dammit,” he uttered, a tear trickled down his cheek. Kyle fell to his knees, quiet sobs escaping his lips. He tried containing it, biting his lip in frustration; failing miserably as he felt the blood rushing to his face.    
  


Kyle took a deep breath, then exhaled. He shut his eyes, collapsing on the sofa.  He felt exhausted; as if he’d just ran a marathon. His stomach churned, as it should after days of emptiness.

  
Just then, he heard footsteps tapping on the tiled floor; with it came the delicious scent of hazelnut sponge cake, soft and sweet.    
  


“You can have seconds,” Sheila smiled softly, setting down the plate. She wiped her son’s tear-stained face, then kissing his cheek.    


  
Kyle felt tears again, but this time for a different reason. “Thank you, mom.”  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  


****


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> part 2

They had gravy chicken for dinner that night, and Kyle had his plate full. The redhead was now eating like he normally would, which brought relief to other three Broflovskis. Gerald and Sheila shared a smile when Ike and Kyle fought over the last drumstick.   
  
The boys’ voices filled the room with energy, lifting up the cold atmosphere. As a parent, Sheila would stop her sons and advise them to share; but her head was in the clouds. She ate with a smile on her face, and her eyes were blissful. The previous days had brought cold air into the house, and they were now long gone. Grateful as she was, she’d be careful to not force Kyle so quickly into healing.

 

Sheila said to herself a silent prayer of thanks, basking in the warm atmosphere. Suddenly there came a knock, loud enough to silence the room. It came again, as of someone banging their knuckles at the wooden door.   
  
Kyle turned towards the sound, letting go of the chicken.   
  
“Yay!” Ike said triumphantly, snatching the drumstick to himself.

The sound repeated louder, demanding urgency.   
  
“Is there someone at the door?” Gerald asked.   
  
“I’ll get it.” Kyle left his seat, heading to the front door. His heart raced as if it could jump out of his chest at any moment.   
  
Outside, was a teenage girl wearing braces. Her face was pale, and she was holding a notebook in her quivering hands. She gazed at him penetratingly, studying him from head to toe. Her mouth stayed agape and her lips were trembling. At that moment, Kyle could practically see hesitation from the figure across him as if it were a large shadow floating in the air.   
  
“Y-you’re K-Kyle, right?” She finally managed to stutter out.   
  
The boy looked at her, confused and worried as to what Shelly Marsh was doing outside his house looking for him.   
  
“Yeah, what’s up?” He might not have seen her often, but he recognized the girl as his best friend’s sister.   
  
His tongue suddenly tasted bitter.   
  
“This’ll take a while. I might have to come in, if you don’t mind,” she said and stepped inside. “It’s about Stan.”   
  
Kyle’s stomach dropped. He looked at Shelly with wide eyes, who looked like she was about to swallow her words.

He stepped aside, letting Shelly into the living room. His parents were still sitting comfortably around the dinner table.

“Don’t mention the book, they’re not supposed to know,” Shelly whispered.

Kyle nodded, then faced his parents. “M-mom, dad... Shelly’s gonna stay for a while okay?”  
  
“Alright, dear. Does your mom know?” Sheila asked.   
  
Shelly nodded, “I’ll just be until eight.” Kyle looked at the clock, it was 7:13.   
  
Shelly turned to Kyle. “This is private information. Stan said not to show anyone else, but you,” she whispered, pointing at the notebook in her hands. “You got a place where it’s quiet?”   
  
“We can go to my room, I can lock it.”   
  
“Dude, no way- too suspicious. That’ll give them the wrong idea.”   
  
Kyle scrunched his nose. “Okay, so what if I don’t lock it? It won’t be too suspicious then, right?”   
  
“As long as they don’t come in. This is my brother’s stuff we’re talking about. I don’t want your parents to think he was a bad kid.” Shelly’s expression softened.   
  
Was.   
  
Kyle pinched himself. “Y-yes. Of course.”   


They excused themselves and went into Kyle’s room. It was a mess; books were scattered and stacked lazily, pencils and half-pencils were sticking out the wall, the bed was bare with the blanket and pillows on the ground, and there were chocolate wrappers everywhere. Shelly could barely see the floor.   
  
Shelly looked around with a disgusted expression. “Is this what you call a room, or a lion’s den?”   
  
“I.. just had a hard time these past few days, that’s all,” Kyle replied. He cleared out a spot in the middle of the room, enough for the two of them.   
  
“You speak for the most of us,” Shelly sighed and sat down.   
  
A silence followed her words, neither of them sure what to say. Kyle had his eyes on the notebook, wondering what could be inside. He assumed it was a photo album, perhaps filled with all the memories they had shared with all their friends. The book didn’t look like an album though, more of a notebook. A scrapbook? No, Stan could never organize a scrapbook. _“Like hell., dude. That’s so weak,”_ he’d say.   
  
Kyle broke the ice. “Okay, what is it you’re trying to show me? What the hell is in that book?”   
  
“Um... It’s best you see for yourself.” She handed him the black notebook. “Stan wrote it.”   
  
His fingers danced on the leather cover, anxious to open it. Shelly said it had private information- what could that even mean? He flipped the cover, not sure what to expect. The first thing he saw, was a typical blank sheet- like all books have. Under it, was another seemingly empty sheet; the only exceptions were the two printed lines on the bottom left corner and the handwritten text on it.   
  
Predictably, the first line was for the author’s name. Stanley Marsh, written in blank ink. Under it was another line next to a printed text that read “SUBJECT”. Next to “SUBJECT” was a text written so lazily, Kyle could barely read it. The letters connected, and the ink was thick on each stroke. Mr. Mackey once said writing with thick or strong strokes were signs of emotional or mental imbalance.   
  
Kyle’s eyes widened in realization. He made out a “When” from the first block, and a streak in the middle word; it read out “the”. He reread the writing again, noticing a hovering dot in the middle of the last word.   
  
“When I die,” he read aloud.   
  
Kyle looked up to Shelly, who had her eyes shut. He figured she didn’t want to hear him read it aloud from then on- he kept his comments to himself from then on. It wasn’t easy; he felt like erupting into tears when he moved on to the next page.   
  


_Tuesday, 3rd November 2017_   
  
_To whoever is reading this, hi. If you found this, I’m probably dead or missing. I carry this book everywhere and with caution. So, chances of someone randomly finding this is pretty low. Then again, it’s me- I’m a clumsy fuck-up. Maybe I’m not dead as you read this. Who cares?_   
  
_The title seems depressing, I know. But this is how I’m trying to cope with suicidal thoughts. I’m hoping to get rid of them by New Year’s. In the meantime, I’ll vent here. It’s like someone’s listening to me. Someone will have to read this one day, right? Yeah, you. Thanks for reading! I don’t know who you might be, but thank you for spending the time to pick up this book, opening it, and reading up till’ this very sentence._   
  
_Anyway, I’m also gonna fill this book in with a lot of requests, since there’s a possibility of me dying earlier than expected. How is not important._   
_  
When I die, I want whoever found this book first, to read the next long-ass cheesy speech in the following page, cause I’m running out of space._

 

Kyle let out a soft chuckle as he flipped to the next page. It definitely seemed as if his best friend had written every single word. He could hear Stan’s voice resound in his head, stressing out curse words every now and then. How he longed to hear his cussing again- but this was enough to keep him occupied for now.   
  
“Before you continue,” Shelly interrupted. “I have like twenty minutes left, so I’ll tell you why I came here in the first place.”   
  
“Yeah?” Kyle shifted his attention away from the book.   
  
Shelly grabbed the book, flipping through the pages. Once she stopped, she handed it back to Kyle. “This.”

 

She showed him a page written in red.   


 

  
  
  
Shelly left as the clock struck eight, and Kyle remained in his room, a tear-stained piece of paper in trembling hands.   
  
“Stan... You piece of shit!”  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took so long! Went on vacation and had school immediately after that. The next part might not be up till a while.. But I'll try to post it asap.


End file.
